The Dragons of Norris Basin

By Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb

I know they are
here beneath this blistered surface,
water seeping, steaming, streaming
where their scaly tails once dragged,
carving trails that hardened
in the ancient mud. Some cracked,
dry, idiot-minded scientist
enlightens us on thermophiles —
bacteria and algae. He points to pools
of emerald, turquoise, and yellow
streaked with red — but I know
these are really the spying eyes
of dragons who float by beneath,
sharp snouts slyly sliding sideways,
breathing, seething, sulfurous things
with nostrils lingering, nuzzling up
against those encrusted windows
too nearby the wooden walkways
and our feet. I don’t trust all that
whisper hissing and rumble grumbling,
don’t buy the geyser talk when the guy’s
half hidden in the mist, but I can tell
from the smell of serpent cells
that we’re being stalked.